Planatae

Swindled

Ricardia didn't know it yet, but today would truly go down as one of the worst days of her life.

She stood there on the street, completely flummoxed. Staring her down was the crumbling, abandoned facade of an old warehouse. It sat between a rusted production plant of some kind, and a boarded-up restaurant, its lettering long-faded. Ricardia checked - then double-checked her navigation - but she seemed to be in the correct location. The issue was the warehouse, and the fact that it stood exactly where the hotel she was expecting should have been. Ricardia let out a shaky chuckle. She must have been missing something, took a wrong turn somewhere after leaving the station's harbor. It was the only explanation that made sense.

Turning away from the building, Ricardia switched her overlays on again. But instead of the navigation function appearing as she expected, her feed was overrun with a blaring assault of alarms. It was her bank account, crying out in virtual pain. For a few long moments, all she could do was stare at the complete loss of her accumulated savings.

Zero. The number stared her down, accusing - a brutal, alarming red. With a steadily creeping chill, Ricardia waved away the alerts, pinging the travel agent who had arranged the trip for her. When the number came up dead, disconnected, her situation suddenly seemed far more dire. There was no denying it now: this was much, much worse than a few wrong turns.

Despite the climate-controlled air of the station, Ricardia had begun to shiver. The narrow, cluttered street she stood on seemed to press down on her, constricting. Her first impression of the dark, dingy Onyx had been a sense of the exotic, a touch of mystery and benign scandal that beckoned from the shadows. But now, fighting back tears, the curtain had been drawn away. There was true danger in this place, and instinctively, she knew it.

It took her a few more minutes to collect her thoughts, but eventually Ricardia came to the conclusion that the best course of action would be to return to Onyx's spaceport. Hopefully, at the harbor, she could contact the authorities or find passage back home to Caeden.

She began to walk, a little unsteady. Most of her attention was still directed inwards, however, fixated on the travel agent who had screwed her over. Dagon. She rolled the name around in her mind, feeling it smolder like a hot coal. He had introduced himself to her by his first name, but she had insisted on referring to him as 'Mr. Agante.' Ricardia had been impressed by his smart outfits, the photos he'd posted online. She'd enjoyed his smooth talking. Ultimately, she'd fallen in love with his proposal. He'd offered to set her up in a place far away and appealingly mysterious. It would be pricey, he warned her, but it was exactly what she was looking for on such short notice.

Reality rushed in as a transport blasted past Ricardia, startling her badly. Looking up, she could see that she'd wandered far enough to reach one of the main thoroughfares of Onyx, and the torrent of sound and light that flowed through it. The station's distant overhead lights had begun to dim for a simulated night phase, but the dazzling billboards and storefronts easily broke the illusion. The vibrant lines of casinos, clubs, and dining halls were brilliant - and perfectly hid the maze of darkened streets beyond.

Ricardia could no longer retreat into her thoughts; navigating through Onyx's nightlife was a challenge that took all of her attention. She had to simultaneously refer to her nav system, avoid the thronging crowds, and keep her bearings all at the same time. Misdirected resentment bubbled up in her as Ricardia shoved past the revelers. Their drunk, effervescent state felt like a personal affront, as if the entire world was now enjoying themselves at her expense. She felt herself tense up as faces leered at her, spiraling past like little, manic galaxies.

She stuck out like a sore thumb: a sad, little soul dressed head-to-toe in conservative gray, scurrying past dresses that flared bright like supernovae. After a few minutes of this, there was a real danger of sensory overload - Ricardia felt herself slipping further and further into hysteria. She wanted to throw herself into one of the transports that flew by, hide in their cool, dark interiors. But without a single note to her name, her only option was to walk.